Sexual Tension
by d i n o b o t
Summary: The road from friends to 'something more' is a long and bumpy one, especially for Ash and Misty. But for now, let's look into the special moments along the way that made the journey worthwhile. Ten non-connecting one-shots, genre plentiful, all AAML.
1. Hiding's Not Hiding With You

**Hiding's Not Hiding With You  
**

The host kills the lights, and a high, raspy shush force the party goers to scatter. In an instant, some dive over the couch, others duck under the kitchen counter, and the rest cram into the adjacent room remarkably without spilling their half filled drinks. Commanding silence from a buzzed group of thirty is no easy task, as evident by a few snickers and giggles lingering through the house, but another hiss stills the air to satisfaction while a few struggle to find refuge in time.

"What are you doing?"

"Hiding! Let me in!" she whispers in a voice that's more like a throaty scream. She grabs the closet's handle and yanks it as hard as she can, almost launching him out as she does. Taking her opportunity, she shimmies into the fast closing space and manages to slip inside just before the door closes.

He's pressed into a row of heavy, hanging jackets, and some naked hangers bury their wires into his back. He winces, not necessarily because of the pain, but because of the girl who's just fallen into him, making the closet less roomy than it used to be. Even though he can barely see her through the slits of light seeping into the thin outline of the door, he can still tell her expression, the face she always makes, partly marked by insincere innocence, the rest wrapped in joy when she _always _gets what she wants.

"This is my hiding place."

"Yeah. And now it's mine too."

"This is ridiculous, there's not enough room for us both."

"Seems like there is to me." Nudging an old umbrella and a column of dusty old boxes away, she inches closer, and all the sudden he can feel her steady breathing as their bodies press together like two hands during a prayer. To Ash, it wasn't a sexual advance more than it was a way to get under his skin, because she knows him - too well in fact - to know any type of physical contact from the opposite sex makes him nervous.

She pokes up her eyebrows. "See?"

"Are you drunk?" he asks, trying to avoid her eyes.

"Are you? I can smell the alcohol on your breath. I see you wussyed out with the light beer."

He tries shifting away, unsuccessfully. "I had a few sips but I'm not drunk. And you still haven't answered my question."

"I came late. Didn't have a chance."

He scoffs. "Would've been easier if you were."

"Gross."

"I mean, it would explain your behavior, with you and your curvy lady parts pushing up against me and all."

"Oh, come on. We're hiding."

"Hiding's not hiding with you," he shoots back, leveling to a whisper. "This is torture."

"You're always free to find another spot."

"I was here first."

"So? I was on this planet first, does that mean I get to kick you out?"

A defeated sigh, and his head drops in the curve of her neck. He doesn't necessarily mean to but there's no other place, thanks to her proximity. Even though this is literally the closest he's ever been to her, and has thought about this many times before, he still groans because this isn't how he imagined it happening: stuck in a cramped, stuffy closet with possibly the love of his life halfway wrapped around his body, waiting in the dark for their surprise que.

As if she knows exactly what he's thinking, she gives him a quick elbow in the side and smiles. "Admit it. It's not that bad."

"Fine. It's not that bad."

It took them ten long minutes to realize if Brock was indeed at the front door, they would have surprised him by now. Guess nobody told them he was going to be an hour late. Not that it mattered anyway.

* * *

**Well, I thought it was time to go back to some good ol' fashion AAML, I've really missed it. I'm always prone to take suggestions on later chapters even though I have most of the drabbles planned out already. I'll try to work them in if I can, but don't kill me if I don't use them.**


	2. In That Moment

**In That Moment**

You can't bring yourself to lift your head and look at his face, into those dark brown eyes because you're afraid of what you might see. But that doesn't stop the many possibilities from flooding into your mind, and you imagine a sharp flinch of disgust, a blank stare, or even worse, his face mirroring yours. The tears run hot from your eyes, searing them shut, and you bury them into his chest, his shirt soaking up all the emptiness, guilt and disappointment they represent. It's hard to be this vulnerable, especially in front of him, a young man you've known since you were little, a person who knows you inside and out, better than anyone else. But you know him too - empathy and comfort have never been his strong suits, but there's no where else to go, and regrettably, there's no one else to turn.

But in the midst of all the agony and the cold shaking your body, you feel him draw closer, in a way you've never experienced before. But it isn't the way he lets you cry near him or the way he holds you, it's how warm you never quite remembered him being as he gently cradles you, and just by saying absolutely _nothing_ can he make everything so much more better. He knows how much you appreciate his silence because he's ruined tender moments like this before, with an underhanded comment, a tasteless joke or an ill timed, out of context statement just to stop himself from feeling awkward. But there's nothing in the air. Nothing can take this away.

In a blink of an eye, you're reminded how wonderful this boy really is, with all his perfection, and all his imperfection, how he's always taken care of you, through childhood journeys and perilous battles. He's a smart kid, with a nagging tendency to run ahead of himself, but you still find it adorable. His diligence in training earns him great respect, and you can't help but take a little credit for his development along the way. And the funniest part is, he never asks for anything in return but to be his friend, and to stop by every so often.

His arms are like towers, a large shield, strong against your frame, and it's in that moment you realize how he feels about you. It's been a constant struggle knowing if he ever did, and you didn't come to him to find out in the first place, but you know now. The once painful memories of the day disappear into nothing, and you smile softly as you hug him tighter, like you'll never let him go again.

You thank every Legendary alive you have such a wonderful person in your life, a boy who cares about you more than he cares for himself, and it doesn't matter if he's disappointed you in the past, how he still drives you crazy now or how he'll mess up in the future. It doesn't matter, none of it does, because in this feeling, in this moment in time, he's the one you need, and you're so happy you're the one he needs too.


	3. Help, shmelp, I got this

**Help, shmelp. I got this  
**

The metal cuffs refuse their unforgiving clasp around his wrists, no matter how hard he pulls, twists or grapples. After one painfully stubborn hour, he sighs with defeat, and it echos off the cell walls and returns to him again. Gathering one last ounce of energy, he shoots his arms forward, only to be stopped again by the chained braces, and his hands drop and hang just above his shoulders. Sliding to the floor, he kicks his leg in frustration, feeling the cold through his clothes and rests his head against the rusty metal wall.

"Great," he whispers quietly to himself. "Now what?"

As if on cue, a man in black is thrown across the room from a large burst of water, right in front of his cell and slams to the farthest wall. He yells and collapses to the floor, unconscious. It's enough excitement for Ash to forget for a second he's bounded, and is jerked back as he aims for a better view. The sound of mechanical doors side closed and a girl races to the thick metal bars.

"Ash, you okay?"

He squints. "Misty? What are you doing here?"

"Saving you, what does it look like?" she throws up her hands, like he just offended her. She tugs on the bars, but they don't budge a millimeter.

"You need the key, genius."

"I'm working on it!" she barks back. Her head pokes up, suddenly registering an idea she should have conceived earlier and runs to the fallen Team Rocket grunt on the other side of the room. Fishing the key ring out of his pocket, she returns and unlocks the door on her first try. She makes a small murmur of confidence, ending with the metal door clanging open as it hits the adjacent wall.

"Why are you here?" he asks again, as she plays 'trial and error' with the key ring and the handcuffs around his wrists.

"I told you-"

"No, I mean, why are you here _alone_? Where's Brock? I told you both to find the police."

An awkward laugh. "Yeah... about that. I kinda let him handle that."

"And he let you go back by yourself? Brock would never do that-Ow!"

"Hold still!" she orders, yanking the poorly chosen key from the lock. "I knew he wouldn't, that's why I didn't bother to ask."

"So, you ditched him?"

She grunts when the key she chose didn't match the lock, and tries another. "Don't worry your pretty little head. He can handle himself."

"I'm talking about you. Didn't you want any help?"

"Help, shelp. I got this," she dismisses quickly, remaining focused on the task at hand. "I'm a big girl, Ash."

He scoffs. "Sure, then why can't you get my cuffs off?"

He should have waited two seconds, because as soon as he said those words, he feels the pressure finally release off his hands and the metal restraints clank to the wall. She stifles a giggle but elects to let this one slide, as she watches the boy gingerly rise from the ground, rubbing his tender wrists. From the look of it, Ash needed a win.

"Does it hurt?"

"No time." A well known hallmark of Ash Ketchum is his constant lack of forethought, especially in perilous situations. It was a well documented fact. Misty knew this and grabbed him by the jacket before he bolted out of the detention room, into the connecting hallway where a squadron of Rocket's were sure to ambush them. After his ungracious spin and yelp, she finds herself facing him and those gorgeous, insensible eyes.

"What's you're deal?"

"Idiot!" gasps Misty, resisting the urge to strangle him herself. "You almost walked right into a whole band of Rockets!"

He crosses his arms defensively. "Do you have a better idea? I don't see another way outta here."

"We at least need to strategize. You don't even have any Pokemon with you." She points to his belt, and he pulls up his jacket, confirming her point.

A growl. "Let's just use yours. Who do you have?"

She runs a hand over her attached Pokeballs for a refresher. "Uh... Psyduck, Staryu, Politoed, Gyra-"

"Gyrados!" he exclaims, reaching for the ball, to which she immediately slaps away. "Gyrados is powerful enough to take them on. Dragon types have huge type advantages in battle."

"Yeah, but only for electric, water, grass and fire types. Rocket's only carry poison and dark types."

"But most of those Pokemon have secondary elements of those types," he argued.

"Example?"

"Houndooms! Sharpedos! Shiftrys!"

"Doesn't matter! Gyrados won't fit in that small hallway anyway."

"Yes he will."

"No he won't!"

"Wanna bet?"

"Don't push me, Ketchum!"

"Why not? Scared?"

"Look!" she screams, distilling the argument. She waits for the silence to set itself before starting again. "We don't have time for this! None of this is important, we have to find a way outta here. Team Rocket's gonna launch that missile any second!"

And just like that, they're on the same side again.

"You're right," he nods. "We need to get to that launch pad before it takes off."

"And fight them off with what, you're winning personality? We need to get your Pokemon first so we have a fighting chance."

"No time. If we're too late Saffron City becomes New Crater City."

"You know, instead of coming up with witty play on words like that, maybe you should focus on something a little more productive."

"Whatever, just give me a Pokemon and we'll find Pikachu and the others."

Misty detaches one of her Pokeballs, enlarges it and drops it in his hand. Together, they crouch, backs against the walls on both sides of the doorway. Ash peeks out of the corner, spying a group men in dark clothes and their already summoned Pokemon.

"Looks like five. Maybe six," he whispers.

"Type?"

"Big, brawny, mush-for-brain lookin' dudes. Right up your alley."

"No, you idiot!" she cuts sharply, but not before smacking him on the chest. "The Pokemon."

"Nothing we can't handle." His fingers grip the Pokeball tighter and brings it just under his chin. "Who'd you give me?"

"Staryu. I've got Corsolla."

He cocks an eyebrow. "What strategy should we start with? _Lightning Post_?"

"No, I hate _Lighting Post_. Plus, we need Pikachu for that anyway. Umm... _Rolling Cyclone_?"

"You always wanna do that one. What about _Blizzard Frenzy_?"

"We're indoors, Ash."

"Right."

Then, with a flash of inspiration, he flips his head her way, unearthing a confident grin. "Lets do _Hydro Avalanche_. It's perfect for Corsolla's rock abilities."

Orange bangs fall against her forehead as she nods, matching his smile. "Perfect."

"1..."

"... 2"

"3!"

Those Rocket's didn't stand a chance.

* * *

**I love arguing Ash and Misty, it's my favorite part of their relationship. I also like writing a small window into a hypothetically larger story, like this one. It's a tiny scene in a bigger picture, but it gives you a lot, and it's quite fun to do.  
**


	4. Having Fun Yet?

**Having Fun Yet?**

Misty held her glass by the rim, letting it hang by her fingertips, swirling the melted ice with the last of the alcohol. She cooled the glass against her forehead, and after letting it linger for a bit, wiped the extra condensation from her skin and set it back on the table. Her left leg crossed over her right one, her fare skin showing all the way to her mid thigh through the thin slit of her strapless black dress. Resting her temple against her hand, she eyed the bareness down to her matching open toed high heels, jittery from boredom, the stiletto knocking against the table's leg.

Breaking away from the floor, her attention focused on the people, in the same swanky clothing, some sitting at their designated tables sampling tiny appetizers, others walking arm in arm with their escorts to their social clique, the rest gliding across the dance floor in the middle of the elegant ballroom. Her breath was lukewarm against the circulated, air-conditioned staleness, and before searching for the quickest path to the exit, she sat up slightly, tucked the unwanted orange bangs messing with her vision, and gulped the last of her watered down vodka tonic.

"Having fun yet?"

A smile - the first one that night, and it was enough to keep her put, for the time being. He made the empty table complete as he filled the seat closest to her, and coupled her empty glass with one of his own. He tugged on his tightly wound bow tie, and it unraveled to a single black strand, falling under the collar of his over starched dress shirt.

She flicked some lint off his tuxedo. "The time of my life. Can't you tell?"

His eyes fell downward then rocketed back up again when they touched upon her gorgeous legs.

"Not your type of venue, huh?" he asked, panning the background.

"That's not it... " she assured quietly. It was true, she had no real disdain for ritzy league functions like this, even if she did find them pretty useless. And even though she was considered a tomboy, she had no problem adorning something other than jean shorts, get all dolled up for high class social nobodies, eat overpriced food and listen to classical orchestra music for a night. After a medium pause she finished her sentence, "... it's just, being here, you know... "

"Alone?" he finished.

Taken back a little, she pouted. "You're alone too. I don't see a pretty girl around that arm of yours."

"Didn't need one," he answered immediately, a cocky grin brandishing his face. And if his well played comment wasn't enough bravado for Misty to stomach, he stood up, extended his hand, and wouldn't let it drop until she took it.

She suddenly found herself at the center of the dance floor, even in the middle of all the waltzing couples, spinning around them like adjoined fireflies, silky dresses twirling in the chandelier light. And if that wasn't overwhelming enough, the song switched to something slow and romantic, and he caught her by the waist, bringing her closer. Like a reflex, her hands instinctively fell in the right places, one on his shoulder, the other placed his right hand, and she was amazed how he was able to guide her so effortlessly through the music.

She finally managed an exhale. "Ash? You can waltz?"

"Surprised?"

A silent nod, but it morphed to an unimpressed shrug after a second thought. Despite his apparent confidence, his hips were still stiff as concrete and he lost the song's count a few times too. So she pulled him closer, so much so that she could wrap her arms around his neck, warm her cheek with his, and take in his familiar scent off his slightly messy hair. And that same boy who before vied with so much suave and swagger melted into the real Ash Ketchum, bumbling and trembling so pitifully against her body.

Sultry lips brushed against his slightly parted ones, and she barely had enough strength to hold him up when he almost fainted.

"Having fun yet?"

* * *

**I know, party scenarios have been done to death, but I've wanted to do a dancing chapter for a while now, and couldn't think of a fresh way to spin it. The second to the last line always cracks me up too, the imagery of Misty trying to keep Ash from falling over is priceless.**


	5. 722 4354

**722-4354**

A massive stack of papers towered in front of him. This was a pile people had been continually adding to his desk as the day went on, since the morning to far after office hours had ended. It was all he could see at the moment, the daunting paperwork reached just under nose level, even though he was currently slouched in his chair instead of sitting up straight and attentive. Not many would be at 11:50pm on a Friday night.

The analog clock ticked annoyingly above, he had kept a mental track of how many hours he was still wasting in this place but lost count somewhere along the way. His computer screen had gone to sleep mode, a thing of envy in his current state of mind. Ash Ketchum sighed heavily, rubbed the back of his head, kicked his feet up on the corner of his desk and stared up at the ceiling, picking out shapes his imagination created.

Being a Pokemon Master certainly had its highs and lows. The highs included missions the League would send him on, various high class swanky parties and even a Pokemon Center dedication or two. At least he would get a free meal out of it. But this was definitely the lowest, working at this ungodly of hours, cooped up alone in his office of the 21st floor of the Indigo Plateau, pushing papers of budget cuts and formal letters of inquiry. He didn't even know what that last one was until tonight.

A foreign sound, a telephone ring, coaxing his attention away from himself. He shuffled some papers around until he found his phone hiding between his stapler and a bobble head - of himself, of course.

An unfamiliar number read across the display. 722-4354.

It wasn't an internal number, not like anyone would be calling, or be there to transfer a call to him anyway. The light continued flashing, refusing to cease.

After a reluctant pause, he finally answered, bringing the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ash."

Her voice wasn't foreign, not one bit. "Misty?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't, not really," she amended. "I called your cell but you didn't pick up. Naturally I called your office phone."

"Left my phone at my apartment. Did I give you my extension?"

"Apparently."

"Funny. Don't remember that."

"I could just hang up, you know."

"No!" He looked around instinctively and scanned the empty room before his voice normalized. "No. Don't. I'm glad you called."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's been one hell of a day."

"Takin' down the bad guys again?"

"Just the opposite," he rolled his eyes. "I've been here since six doing paperwork all day."

"Awww, poor baby," she teased.

"Cut it out."

"Come on, suck it up, Ash. I'm a Gym Leader, I've got more files on my desk than a IRS worker on tax day."

"I don't know," he pushed back, playfully. "This is some pretty important stuff." He ruffled through a random paper and read it aloud. "Monthly Account Balance for the Month of May."

"Sounds fascinating."

"Right? I'll let you know how it turns out."

She laughed. It was nice to hear her laugh, even if it was through a phone, and she was three towns away.

He leaned back into his chair. "How's things at the Gym?"

"Nothing I want to talk about."

He smiled.

"You're smiling, aren't you?"

He smiled even more.

"Cut it out, Ash."

"Sisters back yet? Saw Daisy on a commercial the other day."

"They're in and out, like always. Nothing huge to report."

"Got it."

He searched for something to say - anything. They've exhausted the normal chit chat, an awkward silence followed, but its preferred than the alternative. He swallowed hard, and he can swear he can almost hear her do the same.

"So... why'd you call?'

A quiet exhale. "No reason, I guess. Just... missed ya."

"Yeah?"

"Haven't seen you in a while."

"The life of a Champion, I guess. What are you doing?"

She snickered. "Guess."

"Paperwork?"

They share a laugh, and he almost fell off his chair while doing it. There was some noise on the other end of the line too, but he just assumed she did the same thing. They talk, continually into the night, and he was amazed how time flies as they do. Somehow, their conversation was never waned, no subject too boring or intimate to bring up, and for once that day he caught himself smiling in the reflection of his computer screen.

Then suddenly, he gets an idea, something he should have done a long time ago, not just about tonight, but his whole life. A few short words and he was gone, away from the jumbled papers on his desk, untouched and forgotten. Into and down the elevator, counting each level, one by one until he reached the first floor, walking passed the dimmed vacant lobby, and bid a quick farewell to the night doorman. Shutting his car door, he cranked it in gear and sped out of the parking lot without a second thought, heading east on Route 22, toward Viridian City.

He was still about an hour outside of Pallet, and he kept forgetting where that small lake was or exactly how to get there, but that didn't matter because she was meeting him there too, and he has to tell her how much he cares, how much she means to him, how much she makes him smile, and how sorry he is for taking so long.

* * *

**It's an arbitrary number. I have no idea who you'll get if you dial it.**


	6. Thunder And Lightning

**Thunder and Lightning  
**

Misty zipped the drapes up in one forceful pull, and tugged on the string a few times to make sure it was locked. She leaned on the windowsill and rested her chin on her folded arms, nose inches from the window. A small patch of fog grew on the small area of glass nearest to her mouth, and left when she wiped the breath away. In the darkness, she knelt down on one of her pillows to keep her knees from rubbing on the rough carpet, and hugged the other against her chest. Diagonally falling raindrops tapped the glass in succession, providing a seemingly ending applause, bringing a gentle, serene smile to her face.

"Hey! I can't believe you started without me!" Ash Ketchum stood in the entrance of her bedroom, dressed in his nightwear with a thin toothbrush sticking out the side of his mouth. He grabbed the protruding white handle and brushed furiously with it - front, back, tongue and disappeared only for a moment to spit and finish his nighttime ritual.

He entered, clicked off the light, plopped himself on his sleeping bag to her right, brought in his knees and sported a smile like hers.

And just like that, she wasn't alone anymore.

"I waited for like ten minutes," she defended, "but you were taking too long. Thunderstorms wait for nobody, you know."

He responded mockingly with an inaudible mouthing of her last sentence.

"You shouldn't do it that hard, you know."

This time he turned. "Do what so hard?"

"Brushing. You can ruin your gums that way."

"Oooo," he threw up his hands. "Look who thinks they're a dentist now."

"Periodontist," she corrected, with another smile. "Dentists do teeth. Periodontists do gums."

"You don't know everything."

Her fun continued. "Sure I do."

Already with a timely retort in mind, he turned to give his best, only to be interrupted by a lightning bolt whipping across the sky, illuminating the whole room for a split second then allowed it to return to its darkened state. A shocked pause ensued, followed by the rumbling thunder vibrating the glass against its frame.

And just like that, there was no argument.

"I never get tired of that," Misty sighed, hugging her pillow tighter.

"Me too," he whispered. "Remember that one storm near Mahogany?"

"Yeah."

"And we hid in that cave all night."

"Mm hm."

"Thunderstorms are the best."

She nodded contemplatively, because to Misty, 'thunderstorms' weren't the best, more than it was the memory attached. It was how the lightning looked through the clouds that night. It was the hot chocolate Brock always made on stormy days like that. It was how Pikachu chose to curl up in her arms rather than his master's. It was how Ash blurted nonsensical sentences into the belly of the cave and laughed when his words we're echoed back to them. And more importantly, it was how safe she felt huddled under the blanket with a certain young, bumbling, wonderful boy from Pallet Town.

Another flash of lightning. Another roll of thunder.

"You know, Ash." Her hand ran passed her sleeping bag and fiddled with the individual strays of the carpet. "We rarely get to see each other anymore. Thanks for spending a few days with me before your next journey."

Then came the hard part. "I'm really glad you're here."

She wasn't quite sure if he heard her, but as soon as she mustered up the courage to say it again, a twisted thread of light threaded along the sky, almost shocking the words right out of her. Returning to the window and the darkened clouds waning from the exposure, she waited eyes closed for the wave of thunder to reach them.

"One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand..."

Then it came.

He waited for the thunder to fade, then furrowed his brow. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing how far the storm really is."

"By counting?"

"Yeah, it's an old trick. You can tell how far away the storm is by counting the seconds from when you see the lightning to when you hear the thunder. It's a second a mile, so one second equals one mile, five seconds equals five miles, and so on. So the longer you have to wait, the farther away the storm actually is. The shorter the elapsed time is, the closer it is to you. Get it?"

He wiped his nose, blinked twice and slowly turned back to the window with no answer.

"Guess not," she smirked, shaking her head.

"I get it!" he snapped immediately. "I think you're making it up."

"Am not. It's pretty common knowledge."

"Yeah, just like your brushing advice?"

She nodded confidently. "Ash, you should know by now that I'm right about _everything_."

Her apparent haughtiness was nothing new, for she was always looking for ways to show off her intelligence, whether offering pointers on how to study for a test, back-seat battle advice giving or what to wear on a Thursday night. Not a special Thursday night but a freaking ordinary one. It was pretty irritating, but he was used to it by now.

"You've always been a 'knowitall,' he muttered under his breath.

The topic was relinquished, for the time being, when another bolt of lightning harrowed across the sky, followed by the subsequent crack of thunder one second later, this one more intense, vibrating the glass in its frame, shaking the entire foundation of the house and shocking the two teens back's rigid. The breath caught in both their throats, and they turned to each other when it happened simultaneously.

The natural lull in the conversation allowed time for some reflection. For Misty, it was the age old thought of the boy next to her, and how familiar they still seemed to be despite personality clashes to the contrary. This, however, was nothing new and was dismissed quickly by thoughts on sleep, tomorrow and the events the following day would bring.

For Ash, his mind was on something far more profound, innovative even. First, he dwelt on how he got here. He had just come off another championship attempt, finishing a shade behind winning it all - every tournament he seemed to get closer. Before starting a new journey, however, he always made it a habit to visit his friends, particularly his past traveling partners. After his farewell with Dento and Iris, he hopped a boat to Sinnoh for a weekend with Dawn. Most of the time was spent offering battling tips and scarfing down Johanna's home cooked meals. Next, he would fly to Hoenn to see Max and May, and challenged Norman to an exhibition battle if he had the time. Afterward was a complete circuit of his home region: lunch with Brock's family, followed by a quick tour of Oak's lab that always included tea with the Professor, Tracey and his Pokemon. Even Gary would drop by once and a while.

The _final _stop was always Cerulean City for some reason, even though it was a detour more than it was part of his tour. Even after spending a week with his Mom, Misty was always the last one he'd visit. She'd always give him a quick tour of the Gym - nothing he hadn't seen already - then showed him around town: the mall district, the lighthouse, the beach and the hottest trainer spots. It was fun and enjoyable, nothing too heavy.

Sitting in the dark with her, watching thunderstorms tear the sky apart was the highlight. It was their standing night ritual, and always something he looked forward to. Maybe it was because it reminded him of his early training years, traveling with her, Brock, Pikachu and Togepi, in a much more simpler time.

The redhead swallowed nervously, stealing a glance at him. "You know, Ash. I'm really glad you're here."

She dreaded his response after she said it, before the words even left her mouth, but it all went away with one simple act.

He smirked boyishly, and gave her a one-armed hug from the side. "I know, you said that already. I like being with you too."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. Maybe Ash Ketchum wasn't where she wanted him to be. Maybe their relationship wasn't where they wanted it to be. But at least she knew he was closer than she thought, just like the clapping thunder coupling with the lighting striking the sky, she wouldn't have to wait too long to find out. She had proof. She had confidence. She had him to thank for it.

And just like that, she wasn't worried anymore.

* * *

**Try the counting thing some night, it really does work. Hope you enjoyed. I'll post the next chapter in a few weeks. Things are pretty crazy right now.**


	7. Time To Go

**Time To Go**

The waitress keeps a polite smile as she pours our drinks, refilling them one at a time, the hot liquid leveling just under the lip of the two cups. I thank her silently with a nod and try to mimic that same smile as she leaves to tend to the rest of the customers. I look at the boy across the tiny square table, and he drops his eyes timidly, his fingers fiddling with the napkin and spoon near his tea.

A whistle blows, a train's whistle, and both our heads automatically turn to the noise and follow the massive column of smoke spewing from the engine's bulky stack. The train starts off slowly, but gains enough strength to pull the string of cars behind it and exits the small station with another fading whistle.

I reach for my scarf, making sure it doesn't fly away. The wind finally settles, so does my tea's subtle rippling and I take a quick sip before it gets too cold.

"How many does that make?" He cools his cup held evenly between his hands and waits for my response.

I shrug, even though I've kept count this whole time. "Seven. Maybe eight."

A station worker announces the next schedule over the loudspeaker. It's muffled with static, almost indiscernible over the already clamoring air, but once it's done more than half of the people vacate the small cafe' and board the next train, easing into the station with a wheezing halt.

"Last time you waited till the last one."

"I remember." I slurp down the rest of my drink and wipe the remains off my lips, just to fill the silence, just to stall one more minute.

"You know what'll happen if you miss the last one. Next one doesn't come through here until late tomorrow night."

Almost completely irritated I grumble, "I know" and try to catch the waitress' eye. Eventually, she comes by with another fresh pot of tea and refills our cups no problem. She asks if there's anything else she can do for us - the only two people left in the cafe' - but I shake my head, there's nothing else she can do.

He carefully sips his drink again, and we both pretend to ignore the faint whistle of the last train approaching, finally coming to rest with a breath of steam exhaling from the beneath the wheels.

"Time to go?" he asks.

"Time to go." My tone is as hopeful as I can make it, and I hope he doesn't read anything into it. I want to stay, he knows it, I know it, but we're still walking to the train's riding cart, at the tail end of the line, waiting to board. I hold my small backpack against my chest, and he hands me my suitcase he's been carrying for me this whole time. We're the last one's on deck, staring at each other, with nowhere else to go but forward.

I lean in and he hugs me.

"I'm sorry," he says above the train.

"I know."

"I really thought he'd make it this time."

"I know."

Another sigh. Another chuckle. He holds me by the arms, rubs them softly and tries to maintain his smile - we both do.

"Thanks for waiting with me."

"Anytime," he nods.

I get on the train and the door closes shut between us, ending any chance of a parting word, meaningful or otherwise. I push through the cramped narrow walkway, pass the people still trying to cram their bags in the overhead. It's almost like I'm dancing, contorting my body in the weirdest of positions just to move pass them, bidding an 'excuse me' so quietly I don't even think they hear me.

I finally make it to the caboose, the emptiest of carts, and toss my stuff in the seat farthest to the back. Behind the train is a wooden deck and I bid farewell to the boy I just left, watching him wave goodbye as the conductor blows the horn signaling departure.

But then, I see him, Ash Ketchum running out of the crowds of people in the background, just before my eyes loose the station's reach. He calls out my name, screeching to the end of the platform beside Brock. It's just like Ash to make an entrance like this, so dramatic, so late, so unbelievably him. He cups his hands over his mouth, and he yells something over the escalating roar of the train. But it's all silent to me, behind the thick sound proof glass.

My hand braces on the window, followed closely by my forehead, rattling against the window.

"What a loser," I chuckle to myself, and I can barely make out his figure, his hand still waving to get my attention.

Maybe next time, I think. Maybe next time it'll be different. Maybe next time he'll actually show up, or wait with me, hell, even get on the train with me. But I'll be around this part of the region in a couple months, and if I'm not mistaken he'll visit me in a week or two. But for now, it's time to leave - and as I listen to the train's lowly mumble across the iron tracks, and consider the empty seat to my right, a smile breaks across my face. Because I can almost hear his dorky voice in my ears, and smell his overpriced cologne his Mom brought for him, and can almost feel his arm wrapped around my shoulder keeping me warm.

Keeping me safe.

* * *

**In the beginning, did you think Brock was Ash? It's OK, it was by design.**


	8. Kindred

**Kindred**

"Kindred," he smiled contemplatively. "When two people share an unspoken connection together. Two star crossed lovers from very distinguished backgrounds who posses very different personalities find each other against all odds, against all opposing forces, through thick and thin, find a way to be together. A mystical relationship defined in the stars, marked by destiny and fate. It's the reason why there are such things as true love and soul mates..."

"Ash."

"... an unbreakable bond founded on more than just hobbies, interests and mere physical attraction. Yes, kindred spirits are bound by emotion, understanding, trust, and above all, love..."

"Ash!"

"... beyond the physical, the empirical, the measurable, there lies something more, something greater, something only experienced by a lucky few. The truth that, there is someone out there that compliments you perfectly, makes you whole and makes you happy..."

"ASH!"

He shook his brain back into reality. A case of giggles infectiously spread throughout the little group sitting in a circle, their budding smiles dimly lit by the waning firelight.

"Kindling."

"What?" he asked the red head in front of him.

"I said '_kindling_,' not '_kindred_," Misty said, enunciating every word slowly. "You know, as in: 'Get us more kindling before the fire goes out.'"

"Oh." He looked down at his shoes rubbing on the dirt, avoiding the faces of Misty, May, Dawn, Iris, Cilan, Brock and Tracey trying to restrain much more heavier laughter. But despite the shade of vermilion growing against his cheeks, he reluctantly obeyed, and shuffled off into the forest for some more fire wood.

"You should have let him finish," May whispered in Misty's ear. "He might have dropped a name, or something."

She thought about it for a second. "Nah, let him suffer for a bit."

Regrets were never her thing.


	9. Don't Just Don't

**Don't. Just Don't.**

He looked ridiculous standing on her doorstep, in what looked like a tuxedo one size too big for him, a poorly knotted tie, by the look of it was probably choking him, and a flimsy looking flower clenched in his right hand.

Misty's arm barred in the doorway, as if guarding the entrance to her apartment. But the boy's eyes kept their innocent stare, asking without words for allowance inside.

"You look completely ridiculous," she answered candidly, before he had a chance to ask the question.

His mouth hung with the first word.

"Look at you!" she started again. "Where did you get that suit, 'cause I know it's not yours."

"I could own a suit." His head dropped timidly, as if examining his attire stitch by stitch.

"But you don't. Who's is it? Gary's? Tracey's? Brock's?"

He nodded, and it didn't matter who's it was because she was right either way.

"And this!" Her finger flipped the overstrewn tie out of his suit jacket and held it nose level. "Did you get dressed in the dark, or something?"

He shook his head 'no,' and followed with a "thought I could do it myself."

"How long did that take?"

The question was rhetorical, not meant to be addressed, the point was made, but the mind of Ash found a way to make it worse. "Like forty-five minutes."

She bent down slightly, eying the frail object in his grasp. "And that is?"

Now this he couldn't understand. They both knew Ash wasn't the best with clothes, especially dressing himself, and was the last one to offer advice on fashion, but a lone flower seemed like the single gesture of affection good enough to rectify all the things he had done wrong tonight.

"It's a daisy!" he exclaimed, holding it by the stem, outstretching it between them. "What's wrong with that?"

"Have I ever expressed an affinity for daisy's, Ash?"

Once again, he tried to explain. Once again, he was cut off.

"Don't. Just don't," she sighed.

He stammered. He stammered longer than he should have, and his luck shriveled with every passing second. "I just thought, if I came here, put on a suit, shined by shoes, brought you a present, it'd show you, you know, how much, I like you."

Sighing again, she rubbed her temple with her combined index and ring finger. "Do you remember what we discussed last week?"

He thought hard, really hard, but the only thing he could conjure up was a large surprise breakfast his Mother made for him.

She went on, regardless. "Honesty. I want honesty out of this relationship. And this," she extended her hand, "is _not_ honesty. Ash in a tux is not honesty! Ash in a tie is not honesty! Ash with flowers is definitely not honesty! It's just a cheap attempt to impress me."

"It's not cheap!" he countered, dropping the flower. "Do you really think I like dressing up like this? Do you? Never mind, don't answer that. Because I'm not sorry I dressed up for our date! I'm not! Because these last few days I've been wracking by brain trying to figure out why you're with me in the first place! Me! Ash Ketchum! Out of the thousand other guys! Because I'm not good enough for you, Misty! I know that! And I know you know that! I'm just a stupid kid from Nowhere-ville, who's never won a Championship and never been on a real date before! Why you're not with some rich doctor or smooth lawyer who could give you the world, I'll never know! But I thought if I looked like this, maybe then, I could give you a fraction of what those guys could... and give you what you deserve!"

He stiffened when she grabbed him by the collar, and his high pitched yelp was drowned under her lips. Their kiss would have lasted a lot longer if it wasn't for the annoying necessity for air, to which he breathed in heavily after she released him, but still retained him in a tight embrace.

"That," she whispered in his ear.

"That what?"

"That's exactly why I'm with you, Ash. Thank You."


	10. Nicknames

**Nicknames**

She called him a 'kid' when she hauled him out of a river, on a seemingly ordinary fishing trip, on a seemingly ordinary afternoon. In which he stole her precious bike, stranded her by that same riverbed as he fled from a massive horde of Spearow, and allowed it to be burned to a blackened crisp minutes later.

He said she was 'scrawny' when he first saw her in a bathing suit, earning him a quick blow to the head. It wasn't the greatest idea, and had the lumps and the headache to prove it.

She termed his training regiment as 'lazy' one day, to which he emphatically denied. But she was right, like always, and they both knew it too.

He called her 'Mist' one day at a Princess Festival, and liked the way it sounded ever since, and he swore he saw her smile as she walked away. Why, he'll never know.

She was called 'scardy-cat' when she scurried up a tree from a innocent family of Metapods. Nobody denied it. He wouldn't let her live it down either.

He called her 'nurse' when he and Tracey were sick, and laughed good-naturedly when she warned him not to get used it.

She scoffed at the mere idea of him ever being her 'boyfriend,' but she couldn't quite explain why she blushed every time Melody brought it up, and wondered why almost losing him at the Orange Islands was the scariest feeling she ever had.

He told her she was his 'best friend' when she had to go, no pretenses. And she almost teared up when he swore they would see each other again someday, and understood with absolute certainty, exactly how he felt about her.

She called him a 'hero' when he saved the world, for the hundredth time. Sure, he heard it before, on a hundred different occasions from a hundred different people, but he liked the way it sounded off her lips, and figured the hundred and first time had nothing to do with it.

He said she was 'awesome' when he re-challenged her for the Cascade Badge, and even though he won, settling that long time argument once and for all, it was the toughest battle he could remember.

She called him 'champion' as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and despite the wailing crowd, the dancing confetti and the dozens of other people vying for his attention, managed to whisper she was proud of him just loud enough for him to hear.

He thought she was 'pretty,' when he caught sight of her at a league function. For once, she wasn't in jean shorts, a yellow t-shirt and red suspenders, but was replaced by a gorgeous elegant woman in a strapless blue dress and three inch heels. Never in a million years would he admit that to her though.

She was scared when she told him how she felt. It probably wasn't the right time, and wasn't like the thousand different scenarios she thought of, but twenty-two long years just wouldn't budge for a twenty-third. And after all the confessions, explanations and questions were over she finally got what she was yearning for. When he asked her what they could call one another - 'boyfriends' and 'girlfriends' - she simply shrugged and said titles weren't really necessary. They were already past all that. They had the nicknames to prove it.

* * *

**And that makes ten! It's been fun, guys. Thanks for reviewing. I don't reply to all of them because things are getting pretty crazy on my end, but I do appreciate your thoughts. I don't know what I'm going to write next, but most likely it'll be a longer story with multiple chapters. Till then...**


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